


Upside Down

by fizzysplosion



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzysplosion/pseuds/fizzysplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme:</p><p>"During the Act I, the party constantly teases Carver on account of him being the youngest, and the least experienced, and, OK, the whiniest. He doesn't take it very well, and after months and months of such treatment, he snaps at last at who bothered him the most (my first choice would be Anders and second Hawke, but anybody will do), which leads to possessive, rough kissing, which leads to possessive, rough sex. The point is, as they get it going, it turns out that Carver is a natural born top, and his partner loves every minute of it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upside Down

**Upside Down**

Anders cursed Darktown for having an abundant supply of poisons and diseases but not a single sprig of elfroot in the whole damned place. Then he cursed Lowtown for its apparent allover elfroot shortage. Even Lady Elegant was out of it. Perhaps it was the new trend in recreational drugs. Maker knew it was addictive enough boiled raw. Not that he had ever partaken of such things, of course, especially not in the Tower where there had been little else to do but read all day. No Sir, First Enchanter. Those ingredients were entirely for potion-making and experiments. Anders half-grinned at the memory of the First Enchanter's beard bristling and eyes twinkling with knowing. It rapidly faded as he realised what this meant. A trip to Hightown to spend an inordinate amount on ingredients he would ordinarily get for free but not now the Wounded Coast had suddenly became a haunt for mercenaries, Tal Vashoth, raiders, slavers, blood mages, ancient evils, bandits, abominations and feral mabari. He shot the steps into Hightown a particularly sour look as he climbed them. Justice, blissfully ignorant of the minutiae of irritations that made up his daily life remained dormant and quiet in his head. Which was all very well for him. He never seemed to take over when there was something tedious to be done.

Anders skirted around a cluster of the templars who hung around Hightown like barnacles on a hull, and into the market. Various hopeful merchants tried to ply him with things he didn't need and clearly couldn't afford until he finally pushed his way through to the herbalist. He emptied his purse out in front of the stall holder, who lifted an eyebrow at him clearly unimpressed by its contents, and asked for as much elfroot as that would buy him. He shoved the pitiful few sprigs into his pocket and sighed as he turned away. There had only been a couple of gold and a few bronze in there but he felt considerably lighter as he picked his way back through Hightown.

He was considering going back and asking what he could trade for his coat when a hand on his staff yanked him back.

"What's this?" a rough voice said.

Anders turned around and bit back his retort as he met the helms of three templars. Justice was suddenly alert and ready, banging around in his head like a feral dog on a leash. Anders willed him down. Glowing bright blue wouldn't help his position. The speaker held fast onto Anders' staff, so he remained awkwardly half-turned and facing onto them with the man's grip allowing him no room to maneuver. Of the other two Templars, one was short and looked to be barely out of adolescence by his build, the other was a head taller than him and a little bit broader than the others. Those two seemed startled by the whole affair. New recruits then, probably expecting an easy, apostate-free walk around Hightown.

"A walking stick," Anders said, quickly.

"Funny how you aren't walking on it."

"I don't need it all the time. My joints only trouble me in the winter, or after a long walk. Like today. Please, Ser, give it back for the sake of my knees."

The templar pulled the staff right out of its strapping and examined it. Damn Hawke and his damn thoughtful gifts. The various embellishments on his staff really weren't helping with the pretense, the taller recruit was even shaking his head at him. The templar tossed it to the smaller of the recruits, who caught it with a squeak, as if expecting it to cast a fireball at him of its own accord. Anders opened his mouth to try to explain that, then clamped it shut as the templar thrust his hands inside both of Anders' pockets. There seemed to be a lot more groping around and rubbing at his thigh through the material of his coat than necessary but Anders kept quiet in favour of playing a good, templar-fearing citizen with joint problems and an unnecessarily showy walking stick. The templar's hand closed around the pouch full of elfroot and yanked it out. Anders winced. Those huge gauntleted hands were bound to bruise the stems, which meant most of the juices would soak into the cloth wrapping thus rendering them completely useless as ingredients.

"What's this?" the templar said, unwrapping them.

"Elfroot," Anders said, before he could stop himself.

"What for?"

"For making soap."

The templar stepped into Anders' personal space and actually _sniffed_ him. "You don't smell like elfroot blossoms."

"Of course not," Anders said. "I only use the elfroot soap for special ladies," he gave the templar a wink. "Or gentlemen."

The templar snorted. "So you're a soap-making cripple. That's your story. I wish I could say it was a nice try, apostate."

"Apostate? Me? No. What? Never!"

"Make this easy on yourself now. Hold your hands out in front of you, wrists together."

Anders forced Justice back again. A crowded street in Hightown was nowhere to make a stand. Instead, he turned on his heel and ran as far and fast as he could, leaving even his staff behind. He heard the clang of metal armour as the templars gave pursuit. That was the disadvantage of wearing full, heavy plate everywhere, it took them a while to get going. Anders, on the other hand, dove through the crowds like a boat's hull parting water. He ran right through them and back out the other side. There was yelling and shouting as the templars fought through a crowd that was closing behind him. His feet slapped into the cobbles as he threw himself forward, the stitch in his side cruelly reminding him that he wasn't seventeen anymore. He cut through a few alleyways that had been helpful in his past dealings with the mage underground and slammed into the lead templar as he came through the mouth of the last one. Literally smacked. All that plate was incredibly dense and hitting it at speed was like careening into a runaway cart. The templar compounded it by smacking him around the head so hard his ears rang.

Anders shoved himself to his feet, about to let Justice free, Hightown or no, when the templar raised his palm. A ripple through the air, as if disturbed by sound so loud it had a physical force, hit Anders square in the chest. Justice was raging but distant all of a sudden. The templar grabbed Anders by the forearm and hauled him to his feet.

"Make note, lads," he said, to the two recruits catching up behind him. "Lasting Silence. Learn it fast and practice as often as you can. Once you use it, you're not dealing with a mage, you're only dealing with a man."

Anders made a mental note that these alleys were no longer safe for any future escapee mages. He let the templar manhandle him and force him face-first into the wall. He noted the way the templar's breathing grew harder as he held his wrists together in front of him to be cuffed. Anders made a show of it, wriggling when the cold metal closed over his wrists and letting his breath hitch when the catch slotted into place. It seemed to make an impression on the recruits too. The smaller one gave an uncomfortable shuffle, still carrying his staff in his hands, the older recruit and tallest of the three gave a cough that echoed inside his helm.

"Move it, you," the templar barked.

"Yes, _Ser_ ," Anders said.

He allowed himself to be shoved forward. His dashing escape could wait until they were outside Hightown altogether. Things like this drew far less attention at the docks. He strode forward and found himself shoved through another alley. Damn it, it looked like the whole nexus had been compromised. He was going to have to find some other way of escorting mages through Hightown. The older templar marched beside him and the recruits fell into step a few paces behind.

"Ser?" the smaller recruit said. He had a bit of a squeak to his voice, which meant he was probably even younger than Anders had originally assessed. "Ser?"

"What is it?"

"I think I recognise this mage, Ser."

"Oh? From where?"

"He's the Champion's friend, Ser. I don't think we should be-"

"The Champion is just another mage slut. He needs to learn his place and Meredith needs to stop giving him ideas above his station."

"Slut?" that was a different, deeper voice. The older recruit then. "Watch what you're saying about-"

"What's the Champion to you, boy?"

"Nothing! I just- I don't like the word. We're here to capture mages, not insult them."

"I'll be sure to watch out for your delicate sensibilities in future. For now, why don't you both shut up and help me get _this_ mage slut to the Gallows."

Anders' eyes widened as he realised exactly who that recruit's voice belonged to. The older templar grabbed Anders' arm and put on a burst of speed, leaving the recruits far enough behind that they'd have to half-run to keep up.

"Bloody soft little pansies they keep giving me," the templar muttered.

"You know," Anders said, conversationally, as the templar's grip tightened on his upper arm. "You don't need to take me to the Gallows."

"Don't I now? How about we run off to Sundermount and skip hand in hand through the daisies together then?"

"Look, you've obviously been a templar for a long time and I'm sure Meredith keeps a close watch over your interactions with the mages and makes sure they're all above board and proper," Anders licked his lips, more to draw attention to them than because they were dry. "But here in this alley, well, no one's going to punish you for giving a mouthy apostate exactly what he deserves."

The templar growled in the back of his throat. His hand tightened on Anders' forearm so suddenly the tips of his gauntlets ripped through the material of his coat. Then he swallowed and his hand relaxed. "Pretty as you are, mage, what makes you think fucking you is worth the risk of being found out?"

Anders rattled the thin chain between the cuffs. The templar's helm turned toward the noise. Anders tugged himself away from the templar's grip, sure now that he had a rapt audience, and sank to his knees. "It seems to me with these cuffs on my hands you could put whatever you wanted as _deep_ as you wanted and I wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop it."

The templar curled his hand over Anders' cheek. Anders turned his face into it and popped the thumb into his mouth. The bitter taste of metal filled it but he sucked anyway, making each popping slurp as loud and lurid as possible. He could almost hear the man's resistance snap as he scraped the thumb over Anders' teeth with an odd shearing sound.

"On your feet," he said, hoarsely. "Turn around. I want your arse."

"Yes, _Ser_ ," Anders said.

He managed to get to his feet without the aid of his arms as the templar watched him without lending a hand. He wobbled slightly,finding his balance again when he stood, then stumbled over to the wall. He pushed himself against it and arched his back, sticking his arse out. The templar gripped his hips. Anders could feel the cold metal of his gauntlets through the thin material of his trousers. His cock stirred, recalling many more trysts like this, with strangers in back alleys. He rocked back into the templar's grip, then forward, so the plates on each joint of his gauntlet shredded through the material of his trousers.

"Do it," Anders said. Justice was apoplectic in the back of his mind but with his voice so quiet and seemingly so far away he was easy to ignore. This felt far more like freedom than he'd known in a long time. The templar ran the palms of his hands over his backside, smoothing the material of his trousers over his buttocks. Anders hissed his irritation. "Would you hurry up and fuck me?"

The templar yanked down Anders' trousers to the knees. Anders felt his still-gauntleted fingers claw and scratch over his arse-cheeks. Each little bite and sting made him gasp and twitch until he was coaxed into full hardness and practically humping the wall in desperation. Templars! You couldn't trust them to do anything. He moaned as the pad of one gauntleted finger flickered over his entrance with a cold shock, then pressed against it without entering.

"Stop teasing- Damn it!"

Anders pushed back, only to have the templar hold him still.

"Careful, mage," he said, in his ear. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"I'm going to hurt _you_!"

They both froze as the pattering of metal-clad feet caught up to them. Anders turned his face to see the young recruit drop his staff and Carver jump to exactly the wrong conclusion. He drew his sword and charged at the older templar, with a cry of 'Ack! Oh no! Blood magic!' and struck him in the back of the head with the pommel. Anders almost wanted to laugh, not just at Carver's hammy acting but at the absurdity of the whole situation. The templar crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and the other recruit gave a squeak and ran for it.

"Anders!" Carver said. "Are you all right? Did he-? What did he do?"

Anders let out the laugh bubbling up in his chest. "Carver, you're an idiot."

"An idiot? You were-? You really are a mage slut!"

Anders braced himself against the wall as another deep chuckle welled up from his chest. "A slut?" he managed, between each rolling laugh. "Really?"

Carver whipped off his helmet. He didn't look amused at all. "You were just going to let him fuck you? He's a templar. He was going to take you to the gallows and what the hell is so damned funny?"

"You. You are. You should see your face. Oh Maker." Anders sagged onto the ground and drew his knees into himself, letting out the last peals of laughter behind them.

"Have you finally snapped? Because I don't think I want to be here if you've finally snapped."

"Oh, let me have my fun, you, before Justice comes back. Really, there's no need for you to be so scandalised anyway. I've fucked templars before, you know. I spent my prime years in the tower and some of them are actually quite attractive under all that armour. Although the whole process of ridding them of it is rather like opening a tin of sardines. I've fucked them to escape before too, although I didn't see it as that so much then, more as an added bonus- Carver, you're blushing. How sweet."

"Shut up. I'm not! You should pull your pants up."

Anders jangled the chain between the cuffs at him. "I can't."

"Well I'm bloody well not doing it for you."

"Get the key from your boss then. It'll give you an excuse to avert your delicate virginal eyes from the mage slut."

"I'm not-! I'm _not_ a virgin, so you and everyone else can shut it."

"Finally saved up for that first trip to the Blooming Rose, eh?"

Carver rolled over the unconscious templar and began to search through the fold of his armour. "Maker, I should've just let him take you to the Gallows. He would have, you know, right after he'd had his way with you. That would've shut you up."

"Permanently. They'd have made me tranquil no sooner than I'd landed ashore. I've caused them far too much trouble since I arrived in Kirkwall."

"Yes, yes, you're the biggest martyr since Andraste- Where the hell is this damned key?" Carver flipped the templar over and began a frantic search through whatever parts of the man he dared touch. "Shit."

"Get these damned things off me Carver."

"Magic them off! I don't think he has the key on him."

"Your boss used Lasting Silence on me, which means no magic for a good hour or two."

Carver gave the templar one last pat down, clicked his tongue and stood up. Anders stared up at all that plate armour and was struck by how very tall Carver was. Anders held up his hands to him. Carver frowned at him.

"Don't twist your face," Anders said. "Give me a hand up."

Carver turned red. "You're bare bollock naked from the waist down."

Anders sighed. "Then do me a favour and fetch your brother before I have to deal with another damned templar today."

"There's no need to get Garrett. I can deal with this. I'll just- I'll go behind you."

Carver edged behind Anders and tucked his arms under Anders' armpits to hoist him up. Anders gave a gasp at the shock of the cold armour against his bare skin. Carver lifted him like he was nothing and, as neglectful of his own needs as he might be, he was most certainly heavier than nothing. He could match Hawke for height and he made sure he was fit and strong enough to outrun a templar should the need arise. Carver set him on his feet and hopped a couple of steps backward.

"Be a dear Carver and pull up my trousers," Anders said.

"I'm not your dear, magey."

Anders felt Carver step close to him with another cold shock as the armour brushed him again. He turned his head to see Carver looking down at him aghast, hands half-raised, not quite sure where to put them.

"If you'd prefer me to stay like this..."

"Shut up."

Carver ducked down to grab the waist of Anders' fallen trousers. The clumsy motion made his nose brush against the back of Anders' leg and he shivered. Carver grumbled under his breath as he clambered back to his feet, pulling Anders' trousers with him.

"What in the Void?" he said as he pulled them up over Anders' buttocks. "You're covered in scratches."

"Of course I am. Those gauntlets your lot wear aren't designed just to keep your hands baby soft, you know."

Carver swallowed. "Right. I'd better take you home before he wakes up or someone comes looking for us."

Anders twisted around and found himself sandwiched between Carver and the wall. He was blushing. Anders let the hint of a smile play on his lips. "Take me?" he said.

"That's not- Will you shut up?"

"You look awfully flush Carver."

"Shut it! And get moving. You know these alleys better than I do."

"Carver, I don't know any route back to my clinic where a fully armoured templar won't cause a massive commotion."

"For the love of- We'll go to the Hanged Man then and see if the dwarf can get those cuffs off you."

"Good plan," Anders said and Carver flushed even pinker at the compliment. Anders held up his wrists. "I need to hide these though. Help me pull down my coat over them."

Carver sighed and huffed dramatically as he snapped open the buckles of Anders' coat. He pulled the two halves of the coat apart and made a small, little shocked noise at the sight of Anders' bare chest.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" Carver demanded, as he yanked the coat over Anders' head.

"A patient bled on it. I didn't have time to wash it what with running out of elfroot and being accosted by templars and all."

"From what you were saying a few minutes ago, you're used to being accosted by templars."

Anders snorted. Carver pulled the coat down over his face and along his arms until he could cover the cuffs by folding it over them, so it looked like he was merely carrying his coat in his hands. Carver gawped at him, red-faced.

"What is it now?" Anders said.

"Nothing. I just- I expected you to be skinnier."

Anders sighed. "You know this would all go a lot more smoothly if you would just get Hawke for me."

"I don't need Garrett! I can handle this myself. Come on."

Carver grabbed Anders by the forearm and yanked him with him so suddenly that he stumbled a bit. Carver 'tsk'ed at him and continued to pull him with the same unstoppable force. He exited the alley with Anders still in hand and barged through Hightown, scattering nobles and clucking Chantry sisters as he went. Anders was forced to half-run to keep up with him or be dragged along the ground. Carver didn't stop until he'd descended the steps to Lowtown and burst through the doors of the Hanged Man. Isabela wasn't at her usual station at the bar, so he marched upstairs to Varric's room, which was open but vacant.

"Damn dwarf," Carver said.

He tossed Anders down onto the bed and shut the door behind him. Anders landed sprawled on the mattress, and found his coat tangled inextricably around the cuffs. He plucked at it with his fingers and yanked his hands apart, then put them together, and wriggled his wrists in the cuffs but it only seemed to make it a more impossible puzzle to figure out.

"Carver, find a locksmith or something and get these off me right away!"

"Oh, you don't like being cuffed all of a sudden? You seemed to enjoy it when my superior was doing it to you."

Anders shuffled his way to the edge of the bed and glared at Carver. "I didn't hear any complaints from you. Now be a good little boy and find someone who can actually help me."

"Boy? No, you can stay there until your magic comes back magey and learn to deal with it the way everyone else has to. If you're lucky maybe Varric will come home early."

"Don't be a prick, Carver."

"Why? 'Worried someone might beat you at your own game?"

Anders clicked his tongue. "Andraste's tits, Carver, do you really hate mages that much?"

"Not all mages, no."

"You're lucky you're Hawke's brother or I'd-"

Carver closed the distance between them with a couple of strides. Suddenly he was towering above Anders. He grabbed Anders' ponytail and yanked his face up to his, gauntlets trapping and pulling at his hair. "Or you'd do what?" he said. "Garret's not here to fireball anyone who comes too close to you."

Anders nipped Carver's lower lip between his teeth and gave it a pull. Carver made a strange 'hnnnngggghhhh' noise and jumped a couple of steps backward.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he yelled.

"Putting the fear of the Maker into you apparently. Andraste, Carver, you're a lot more innocent than you pretend to be, aren't you?"

"Innocent!"

"Or is your templar training? Are you afraid of being corrupted by a naughty mage?"

Carver closed the distance between them again and stood over him, though he didn't dare touch this time. "Not much of a mage now, are you?" he sneered.

Anders hooked his legs behind the back of Carver's knees and brought him down on top of him. Carver toppled with a comical little yelp but managed to brace himself with his hands either side of Anders. He hovered above him, stray wisps of hair in his eyes and another deep blush on his face.

"Don't tease me, Anders," he warned.

Anders crossed his ankles, effectively holding Carver in place against him. "Or what?"

"Or I'll show you how innocent I am."

Anders laughed. "Is that supposed to scare me? You might intimidate new apostates in the Circle but everyone who knows you knows you're all talk."

Carver swiped his tongue over his lower lip where Anders had bitten it. Then he grabbed Anders' ponytail again, the tips of his gauntlets scraped against Anders' scalp, more hair gathering in the joins. He rested his other hand on the back of Anders' neck. The shock of cold there made all the little hairs stand up. Carver dragged Anders' face to his. Anders' chest settled against Carver's, nipples growing erect against his breastplate.

"Someone should have put you in your place a long time ago," Carver said, his lips brushed Anders' with every word. His voice was so low it was almost a growl. The vibrations made Anders' lips tingle.

Anders didn't know whether to laugh or moan. Carver's breath, quickened now, beat against his sensitised lips. _Carver's_. Hawke's idiot brother. There was no chance that he was actually contemplating what Anders thought he was contemplating. Carver closed his mouth over his and that thought fizzled out and died, along with any others that might join it. Carver kissed him roughly, yanking him by his hair to where he wanted him. When Anders' lips threatened to go numb from the bruising force, he nipped at them, making them tingle all the more. Anders slid upward and crossed his legs around Carver's waist, so his whole body was bent into him and he could feel the harsh grating of Carver's armour through his cheap, thin breeches. He fought against the cuffs and the rough bindings of his coat, desperate to lock his arms around Carver's neck and press even closer. His cock hardened, trapped between Carver's unyielding armour and his body. Carver chuckled at him, mouth still latched over Anders' and dropped him down onto the bed. Anders moaned, his mouth felt like it was on fire. Carver brushed the cool pad of his gauntleted finger over each lip and then tried to tug away from Anders.

Anders closed his legs even tighter in an attempt to keep him in place but Carver just laughed and stepped away. Anders sank back against the mattress, chest rising and falling as if he'd just outrun another three templars. Because of _Carver_. Carver!

Speaking of whom, Anders raised himself up on his elbows to find him sitting at the table in Varric's room with his arms crossed and smirking.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Anders demanded.

Carver leaned back in his chair, wearing that same infuriating grin. "I thought we'd stay here in complete silence and stillness until Varric comes back to free you."

"Carver. Get back over here. Now."

Carver leaned forward, letting the grin slide from his face. "And do what?" he said in that same low tone that had made Anders' lips tingle. "Why don't you tell me what you want me to do to you?"

"Damn it, Carver-"

"Ask for it."

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious. If you don't ask, you don't get."

Anders pursed his lips and glared at him for a while but it had no effect. "Fuck me," he ground out. "Come over here and fuck me."

"What's the _magic_ word?"

"Now!"

"Ah-ah."

"Please! Come over here and fuck me please."

Carver stood up and discarded his armour piece by piece. It had never occurred to Anders to see Carver as anything other than a mild annoyance before and certainly never to _look_ at him the way he looked at Hawke or the other companions when he thought they weren't looking but now, as each part of Carver's body was revealed, he wondered why. Carver had muscles like the old gods. Each perfectly formed, bunching and stretching with every clumsy movement as he dropped all of his armour onto the table. Anders watched him owl-eyed until he removed the last stitch of his clothing and turned back to face Anders.

"Maker," Anders said. It had been too long, far too long and even longer since he'd had someone barely into their twenties. His eyes flicked up and down, over every part of Carver's body. All that bulk and muscle and ink black hair. "Maker, you're gorgeous."

Carver made a 'tsskk'ing noise. "Don't get soppy about it."

Anders let his head drop back onto the bed as he approached. He felt the mattress dip with Carver's weight. Carver straddled Anders' chest. Anders moaned at the feel of his skin sliding across him as he inched further up until he was sitting just below Anders' collarbone. Anders wriggled, feeling firmly bound by Carver's weight on his chest and the cuffs still locked around his wrists. Carver pawed at his lips.

"Open your mouth," he said.

Anders did and drew one of Carver's fingers into it. He scraped his teeth across the sensitive pads and sucked it into his mouth up until the last knuckle. Carver pulled it out with a pop and smeared the saliva over Anders' lips.

"You'll need to open wider than that," he said. He took the base of his cock in hand and nudged it against Anders' lips. "I'm going to fuck your face. What do you think about that, magey?"

Anders groaned and parted his lips to allow Carver to push the tip of his cock between them. He formed a tight seal with his saliva-sickened lips that made Carver's cock twitch as it slid along his tongue. He moaned again, thrusting his hips up into the empty air as he realised exactly how much of Carver there was still to go.

"You'd-nn-you'd better be thorough," Carver said, as he filled Anders' mouth with the salty taste of pre-come. "All of this has to go inside you."

Anders groaned again, sending the vibrations of it through the cock in his mouth. Carver shuddered, almost lost his balance on his perch and had to brace himself on his hands. Anders widened his eyes to watch him pant, bent in on himself, struggling not to moan as Anders laved the tip of his tongue over the head of his cock. Carver edged forward. Anders opened his mouth a little to allow more of Carver to ease inside. He relaxed his throat as Carver inched even closer, until his knees were clamped either side of Anders' head and Carver's cock was seated deep in his throat. Carver delved his hands into Anders' hair and closed them around the back of his head. He continued to move until he'd stuffed all of himself down Anders' throat, until he could feel the brush of Carver's pubic hair against his lips, Carver's balls in the hollow of his throat and the undulations of his abdomen as he tried to keep his breathing under control.

" _Fuck_ ," Carver muttered.

Anders worked his throat muscles, clenching and spasming them until he pulled a moan from Carver's mouth. He felt Carver's stomach muscles jump against him as he huffed and groaned, every muscle trembling as he held on tight to Anders.

"Stop," he managed. "Want to- Want to fuck your throat."

Anders groaned but willed his throat to relax again. If he had his hands free he'd dig his fingers deep into Carver's tight little arse, he'd _grip_ him and tip him forward and back, controlling the pace of his thrusts. The very maddening fact that he couldn't however seemed to rile him up even more. His cock was full now, completely hard and beading pre-come through his smalls. Aching to be touched. Then Carver twitched his hips and that was completely forgotten as he reveled in the familiar rawness of Carver's cock sliding ever-so-slightly out of his throat and deeply back in. Carver grew bolder after the first few thrusts until Anders was practically humming moans around him, throat thoroughly used, each sensation lingering so it felt like Carver was always inside him even when he slid up and completely out of Anders' throat.

Anders whined at the loss as Carver's cock passed over his lips and was withdrawn completely, still coated in his saliva.

"Damn," Carver said, rolling himself off Anders to stand at the foot of the bed. He yanked one of Anders' boots off, then the other. "You're really good at sucking cock."

"I've never had any complaints," Anders said. He curled his toes at the rasp he heard in his own voice.

Carver half-grinned as he let his fingers trail over the laces of Anders' breeches, occasionally brushing Anders' erection in a way that made him arch up off the bed for more. "Now," Carver said. "How should I reward such a good _obedient_ little cocksucker?"

"Carver, if you don't fuck me right now I'm going to stick a fireball so far up your arse you'll be billowing smoke like a dragon."

Carver chuckled. "If you're that desperate maybe I should flip you on your front and watch you rub yourself against the mattress like the wanton whore you are. Would you like that? Me watching you completely helpless, watching you moan and struggle, wanting to thrust your dirty little fingers up your arse, wrap them around your cock, and have a filthy, Makerless wank right in front of me, but knowing that you can't with your hands all wrapped up like that. Maybe I'd indulge you by puling myself off right over you, cover you in my seed and make you wear it. Then maybe I'd smear it over you, over your cock and your tight hole-"

"Carver _please_. Maker, please fuck me."

Carver snapped open the laces of Anders' breeches and yanked them down to his knees. His smalls, however, he ripped apart with ease. Anders moaned as he watched Carver pull the scraps away, some last threads still clinging, until he was naked in front of him. Carver made an appreciative noise and ran the flat of his had down Anders' chest and stomach, mapping out the musculature and tickling each burnished curl of blond hair. Each touch deftly avoided even brushing Anders' poor, neglected cock, now so hard it almost looked like it was straining up toward Carver.

"Carver!"

Carver grabbed Anders' bound hands and hoisted him up by them. He draped them over the bedpost so that Anders was bound to that. Anders dropped onto his knees facing the bed and wriggled out of his trousers. He spread his legs and strained against the post, lifting his arse up to present to Carver.

"That's a hell of a view," Carver said.

"Are you just going to look at me? I knew you were all talk."

Anders felt the heat of Carver's skin near the back of his legs as Carver shuffled closer. The floorboards creaked as Carver lowered himself down onto his haunches. He thrust two thick fingers inside Anders without another word. Anders half-groaned, half-screamed and pushed back against them until he felt Caver's last knuckles.

"Steady now," Carver said, placing his free hand on the small of Anders' back. He continued to wriggle and work the fingers inside of Anders, as he tried in vain to lurch back and fuck himself on them with Carver's huge hand spanned over him, effectively pinning him in place. "You aren't getting off unless it's with my cock inside you."

"Carver," Anders whined. Anders spread his legs even wider in invitation and lowered his head against the bedpost.

Carver slipped his fingers out of Anders and stood up. Anders felt the tip of his cock, now dry of spit, brush against his entrance. He tried to push back again but Carver steadied him once more with the same hand on the small of his back.

"You don't want me to go in dry," Carver said.

"Yes I do. Carver, fuck me please. Right now. Please."

"Sorry magey but you'll have to wait a couple of seconds."

Anders heard Craver trudge away from him. When he turned his head to glare, Carver had already located some slick in the form of a health potion and was working it over his cock. Anders' mouth fell open as he watched Carver coat himself in long strokes, holding just tight enough that his foreskin pulled back with each motion. Anders thoughts were suddenly filled what that cock would be like inside him, how easily it would slide all the way to the base, how he'd- It was too much for him. He clamped his eyes shut and dragged himself back up onto his knees, where he could slide his pelvis against the bedpost and rub his cock over each notch for what little relief it gave him.

"Oi!" Carver said, suddenly very close. He grabbed Anders' hips and dragged him back down onto all fours. "What did I tell you?"

" _Please_ Carver."

Carver squeezed Anders hips, so that his short, blunt little nails left grooves in the skin. Anders pushed back again until he could feel Carver against him. Until he could trap Carver's cock between his buttocks and rub up and down so it slid between them, slick transferring from his skin to Anders'. Carver groaned and bent double over him.

"Look at you," Carver said, words falling over Anders' back, lips brushing the knots of his spine. "You're a mess."

"Please _please_ please..."

Carver finally positioned the head of his cock at Anders' entrance. He eased inside him with one slow thrust and then wrapped his hands around Anders' hips again, still bent double over him so each part of his chest was pressed against Anders' back, his mouth buried in the back of Anders' neck. Anders could feel the thrum of his heartbeat as he drove his hips forward, burying himself deeper and deeper inside him. Anders pushed back inasmuch as he could with Carver's vice grip on his hips, getting him seated as deeply and quickly as possible. He didn't stop until he felt the heat of Carver's pelvis against him and knew that every last inch of Carver was inside him. He clenched his inner muscles around Carver, drawing a litany of 'fuck', 'Maker', 'fuck' from him.

"Ready?" Carver asked.

"For the love of all that's holy, yes!"

Carver straightened his back, leaving Anders bare of his touch. He gave a grunt of disapproval that turned into a low moan as Carver grabbed his ponytail again and wrapped it around his fist, the other hand settling into the groove of his hipbone. Anders clenched around him again, as an incentive to hurry up. Craver swore and moaned and finally started to move. Anders found himself trapped between the bindings on his wrist and Carver's hand in his hair, as Carver slid slowly, torturously out of him and drove back in. Anders wriggled and moaned and made tiny seething noises but was unable to push backwards or even rock forwards more than an inch, before Carver yanked on his hair. His own cock twitched and pulsed, heat curled slowly in his belly but it was still nowhere near _enough_.

Carver chuckled again, sending the reverberations right through Anders' body until it was thrumming with pleasure. He buried himself all the way inside Anders again.

And stopped.

Anders half-screamed with frustration.

"What's the matter, Anders?" Carver said. His voice was breathy and rough but still contained an absolutely infuriating smirk. "I fucked you like you wanted."

"Hard. Now. Please."

"Are you sure you can take it? You're much much _tighter_ than I thought you'd be."

Carver gave a half-thrust that made Anders' knees sag and a strange noise trill from his mouth. Carver chuckled again and just as the reverberations were dying down began to thrust in earnest. Anders bit his lip, barely stifling the moans that spilled from him but after the first few rapid thrusts Carver returned to being far too gentle.

"Harder!" Anders brayed.

This time, Carver obliged. He dug his fingers into Anders' hip bone so hard that he was bound to leave a set of marks. His thumb dug a deep groove into Ander's buttock. He used Anders' hair, still wrapped inextricably around his other hand, to pull him back and forth so that he was still totally controlling the movement. This time Anders didn't mind so much. Or more accurately he couldn't mind anything at all. Carver put all that head to toe muscle to use, thrusting so hard that his pelvis clapped against Anders' buttocks and sent a shudder all the way through him. His head knocked against the bedpost but was stopped from ever hitting it too hard by Carver immediately pulling him back, all the way down on his cock. Anders dipped and lifted his back, so that each time Carver pounded into him he hit the part of him that made him scream. The sensation was far too good, almost unbearable and he needed so much more.

He was fairly sure he was doing something embarrassing between the sparks of bright, intense pleasure like constantly shouting Carver's name or heaping praise upon him as if he was the Maker himself but as long as Carver kept driving into him like _that_ and pulling out only long enough to emphasise how rough the next thrust was like _this_ he couldn't bring himself to care. Carver was grunting and moaning mostly curses and the occasional _filthy_ compliment squeezed out between another yank of Anders' hair as he sank into him again. Their knees creaked against the floorboards. At one point Anders was sure the bed actually shifted. Anders was panting open-mouthed when he wasn't shouting or moaning. His upper body was bowed low, the rest of him only moving to Carver's whim. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and shoulders. Carver felt so _damned good_ inside of him.

Anders clenched his fists inside the wrappings of his coat. His toes curled. He closed his eyes and tried to prolong it for just another moment but that only made the sensations more intense. Carver gasped behind him as he orgasmed.

"Fuck, Anders," Carver said.

Anders moaned, whole body somehow even more sensitive. Carver loosed the hold on his hair and his hip. He gave a few more shallow thrusts as Anders trilled out the last of his moans, then seized his waist again. He drove in one last time before he came too, buried inside Anders.

They stayed like that, panting and sweating, until Carver finally remembered how to move and pulled out of Anders.

"Maker," he muttered.

He wrapped his arms around Anders and lifted him off the bedpost, so that both of them could get unsteadily to their feet.

"Junior! Blondie!"

They both froze. Varric made an almost comical tableau, standing in the doorway to his room which was twice his height anyway, eyes bulging and mouth gaping.

"You better not have used Bianca's special ointment!"

"Why do you have-?" Carver started.

"Health potion!" Anders blurted.

"All right. Yeah. That's all right then," Varric visibly relaxed. "'Didn't know you had it in you, Junior." Varric retreated a couple of steps, pulling the door with him. "I'll be back when you two have cleaned up. Cleaned up _thoroughly_."

 **The End**


End file.
